


Attachment theory, as applied to the unfathomable

by dragoneyes



Series: Amala Preschool series [2]
Category: Persona 2, Persona 5, Persona Series, Persona | Revelations Persona
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Children, Codependency, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Old Married Couple, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoneyes/pseuds/dragoneyes
Summary: "This is Nyarla-sensei," her little boy piped in from between them.The more she observed the man in front of her, the more Yui found that it was difficult to place both his age and origin: he looked like he might have western blood in him, but it was hard to say as she kept getting distracted by his gaze whenever she looked at his face. His eyes were of a deep black, so intense that it made her doubt having ever seen the true depth the color could reach. They resembled two pits shrouded in shadows, endless and unfathomable, and there was something in his expression that made her feel like he could see every single one of the failings hidden deep inside her heart.
Relationships: Nyarlathotep (Shin Megami Tensei)/Philemon (Persona)
Series: Amala Preschool series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975081
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Attachment theory, as applied to the unfathomable

**Author's Note:**

> Restraint? What's that? I certainly don't know any of that.  
> Have more preschool children and eldritch husbands shenanigans instead.
> 
> Regarding the cannibalism and body horror tags: the same rules of the first fic apply here as well.

"Nyarla-sensei! Nyarla-sensei! I brought Mom, like Margaret-neechan told us to do!"

Yui watched her son let go of her hand to run towards the person that had just stepped outside the room and had paused at seeing the child bouncing his way towards him. It was a tall man with neat short dark hair and a sharp jaw, wearing a pair of comfortable black pants, a purple shirt and a bright, lime green apron that looked as if it had been at the worst end of a paint war at some point in the past.

With a hint of surprise making its way on her face, she watched as Goro stopped in front of him, smiling brightly: she wasn't quite sure she'd ever seen her child so excited around adults before.

He had always been a good, conscientious son, always trying to make things easier on her - even when she couldn't muster the strength to play with him, or she fell asleep in their tiny apartment as soon as she came back from work - and he was always exceedingly polite around older people, as he seemed to understand that any misstep on his part would reflect badly on her.

The man peered down at him, face expressionless, but when he spoke his voice was a warm hum tinted with a drop of curiosity.

"And why did you bring her to me, instead of meeting with **M̟͌å̬̳̏ṙ̼͈̼ͣ̈́g̞͉͍͕̀͊͋̍a̗̯̹̟̹ͣ̾̅͆ͣr͇̯̟͎ͬ̄ͪ̿e͉̮̿͆̌ͅt͉̣ͤ̑**?"

"You should talk to her!" was Goro's immediate and excited reply.

Yui took that as her cue to step closer and introduce herself.

"Hello, I'm Akechi Yui, nice to meet you, sir," she decided to be polite, as she still had no idea of his age, but she also had the impression he must be at least a fair bit older than her. "I don't think we've ever met, are you one of the caretakers here?"

He looked amused for some reason when he replied with a simple, "yes."

Usually, when Yui dropped Goro off in the morning, she was always met by one of the siblings in blue clothes. She had assumed that they all wore the same color as a uniform of sort, but evidently not.

"This is Nyarla-sensei," her little boy piped in from between them.

The more she observed the man in front of her, the more Yui found that it was difficult to place both his age and origin: he looked like he might have western blood in him, but it was hard to say as she kept getting distracted by his gaze whenever she looked at his face. His eyes were of a deep black, so intense that it made her doubt having ever seen the true depth the color could reach. They resembled two pits shrouded in shadows, endless and unfathomable, and there was something in his expression that made her feel like he could see every single one of the failings hidden deep inside her heart.

"He's a good sensei, not like Philemon-sensei," Goro continued, startling her out of her musing. "Philemon-sensei is a scoun--scond--?...that word that Lavenza-neechan uses all the time for Nyarla-sensei."

"Scoundrel," his caretaker offered, mouth getting an amused bent that softened the sharp angles of his face and made all tension slowly seep out of Yui's shoulders.

"Yes, that one!" Goro nodded before turning once again to his mother, "so you should talk to him."

"I should?" Yui blinked in confusion at her son, not having been informed of anything of the sort.

"Of course!" the child huffed, as if it were obvious. Sometimes she wondered what exactly he was learning at this school that was making him become more and more outspoken with each passing day.

Then again, she didn't have much choice - not with the way they always struggled to make ends meet - and it didn't seem like they were teaching him bad lessons per se, it was just a bit surprising to see this sudden blunt streak emerging from him.

"And what should I talk to your sensei about?" she asked, sending an apologetic glance in the man's direction: they were stealing his time, weren't they? She had been called in today because there was an event to let the parents watch their children during their daily activities at the school, and they were supposed to meet with Margaret-san as soon as they arrived, but they ended up bumping into Nyarla-sensei - Nyarla-san? Was it a nickname or his actual family name? - instead.

Normally, taking time off work would be...difficult for Yui, but somehow this time she had enough money saved up that she could allow herself half a day off from one of her part-time jobs, and luckily, the manager at the clothing shop she worked at on Wednesday was relatively easy to approach - as long as he didn't find out about her night job.

"Because you need to share your secrets with him!" her son's determined voice prompted her to look down at him: he was clutching her jacket now, serious expression looking adorable on his round cheeks.

She wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, however, and a quick glance to Goro's caretaker confirmed he too was oblivious to her son's intentions: the man's head was tilted to one side, dark eyes peering down at the child with just a hint of curiosity, as if he were trying to keep the emotion hidden from them.

"About?" Nyarla-sensei hummed in the end, still eyeing him.

Out of the corner of her eye, right next to Goro's side, Yui had the impression something moved, but when she turned her head towards it, there was nothing there.

Her son gave a startled laughter, before explaining, "about being single and having a child!"

Well, that was certainly not a reason she was expecting to hear. When she peered up to look at the man in front of her, he had the kind of expression she would see on her night coworkers sometimes, when a particularly insistent and uncooperative client came around.

" **G̩͋ȍ̝̙̱ͤ̿r̯̞̞̹̝͌̒ͭ̇̐o̮̱̲ͦ̋̿**..." he sounded strained, as if he had that discussion before.

Suddenly, it occurred to Yui that if a man in the age range he seemed to be, was a single parent, then the most likely reason for him to be so, would probably not be the same as her own. Instinctively she reached out to squeeze her son's shoulder, hoping he would let the matter go.

Her son and his newfound blunt streak, blatantly ignored her non-verbal cues, and soldiered on instead, huge eyes looking up at her with solemn seriousness.

"Nyarla-sensei is pregnant."

Yui should have known.

Her son was five, these things kept happening, and yet he still managed to take her by surprise sometimes. Trying very hard not to burst out laughing at his claim, she did her best to answer with a serious expression of her own.

"Is that so?" she asked, now realizing that the reason her child's caretaker seemed so spent, was not because of any tragedy in his past, but because this seemed to be a recurring claim on her son's part.

Still maintaining his serious demeanor, Goro nodded as he continued, "Philemon-sensei left him with the child."

Oh, she'd heard about this one before, the butterfly-themed one, although she still had to meet him as well. Again some kind of movement caught her attention somewhere in the periphery of her vision, but when she turned towards it, she only saw that Nyarla-sensei had shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"I am _not_ pregnant, I thought we'd established this."

"Naoya says you're pregnant."

" **N̰ͭa̝̣͐̏o͔̝̮̤͋ͮͣ̀y̙̠̞͕̒͑̊̓a̦̯͊́** says and does a lot of things that he should not."

Naoya sounded like he was an interesting kid. She wondered if this was something that had started as a joke and spread through the preschool's whole underage population.

She was about to offer the man a way out of that conversation, imagining he had other things to attend to, when a quiet voice somewhere next to her made her look down.

"Hey."

When her gaze lowered, she was met by a mess of curly black hair, cute squishy cheeks, and shy dark eyes. The newcomer was addressing her son, tip of one foot tracing the floor, and both hands busy with one plushie each: at his left was a black and white stuffed cat that looked well-loved and well taken care of, at his right was a zebra that she recognized as the one her son was sometimes allowed to bring home from the school.

"You forgot this," he murmured, before trusting the striped animal almost in her son's face. Goro blinked, finding his vision obstructed, but took the offered plushie and hugged it to his chest with a smile.

"Oh! Thanks!"

The reaction seemed to please the newcomer, because he took a tighter hold on his own stuffed animal and sank his face in its furred head in an attempt to recollect himself.

"And who might you be?" Yui asked him, keeping her tone light and expression friendly when that messy head finally turned her way.

"Ren," his voice was really very soft. "You're very pretty, onee-chan."

Quiet he might be, but apparently this little boy was also a charmer. How cute!

"Thank you, Ren-kun! I'm Yui, Goro's mom."

At her words, his eyes shot wide in amazement as his gaze bounced between her son and her.

"No way! You look so young! I thought you were his sister!"

"Flatterer," Yui teased him, finding his reaction adorable. "Are you one of Goro's friends?"

It seemed to be the right question to ask, because the child's small chest puffed out, and he straightened from his slouch to proudly declare, "I'm his rival."

Oh-oh!

This one was The Rival!

She'd heard about this one and his exploits at great length, his supposed thieving endeavors being both a source of frustration and begrudging entertainment to her son. He always pretended to find their encounters a great burden on his part, but he also always recounted with great enthusiasm his attempts at bringing the infamous thieves to justice.

"Ooohh, Goro talks a lot about your confrontations!" she offered, hiding a chuckle behind her hand when she heard her son protest with an equally vehement and affronted, "Mom!"

Ren peered up at her with bright eyes and a smile full of teeth.

"I always win," he proudly stated, which seemed to be the wrong - right? - thing to say, as it prompted Goro to turn his outrage towards him instead.

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do!

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I--!"

"Do I need to put the both of you in time-out again?" the threat was said mildly, but it still startled Yui as, taken by the two children's antics, she had completely forgotten about their caretaker still being around.

"No, Nyarla-sensei," they both chorused in return, heads tilted up to peer at him from below.

They didn't look contrite at all.

When she turned her attention on Nyarla-sensei, his face was expressionless, but she didn't get the impression that he was annoyed by their back and forth, as much as he didn't seem used to show emotions overall.

" **R̟̉e͖̼̙̓ͨ̃ñ̺̣͎ͨ̀** , did you come for a reason?" he promoted, this time sounding clearly amused.

"Oh! Right!" the dark-haired child exclaimed, attention back on the task he had been given, "Margaret-neechan said to bring everyone to the music room."

This was how they ended up herded through the corridors by a soft-spoken preschooler.

Although "herded" was maybe not the right word, Yui considered, eyeing the way Ren-kun was holding hands with Goro, as much as enthralled by how flustered her son looked: he didn't seem to mind at all that his "rival" was dragging him along.

She filed that knowledge away for the next time she felt in a teasing mood.

******

The room they entered was wide and colorful, music-themed decorations hanging from the walls, a nice new-looking piano on one side, and a series of seats shaped like a keyboard on the opposite one.

At the piano was sitting an elegant-looking man - who was also...wearing a blindfold? Was that some sort of game he was playing with the children? - and next to him stood a refined woman with a motherly smile and a somewhat elaborate hairdo. They looked a bit out of place in the tasteful way they wore their clothes, but the both of them looked relaxed in the cheery atmosphere surrounding them.

So many foreign people working in this preschool. She had thought the same thing when she'd first come to enroll Goro, but for some reason she kept forgetting to think about it more thoroughly. It wasn't that weird, was it? As long as they did their job well, and they didn't mistreat her son, it was probably fine.

As soon as Yui stepped into the room Nyarla-sensei had departed from their little group to aim for the cluster of blue-clothed siblings standing encircled by a crowd of excited and loud children. She watched as he passed by them and flashed them a smile.

It looked like a very normal smile to her, but the siblings tensed at his passage as if expecting some kind of judgment on his part. He exerted none, and instead made his way in a corner of the room that was free of children and adults alike.

Yui watched him go and wondered if perhaps Nyarla-sensei was more strict with the other caretakers than he seemed to be with the children.

"Are your parents around, Ren-kun?" she turned her attention back to the child still holding her son's hand, even though she could see, out of the corner of her eye, that Goro was subtly attempting to get free now that they had a larger audience. The dark-haired boy gave a little shrug, glancing in the direction of the adults and children lingering near the keyboard-shaped sits, before turning a polite smile in her direction.

"My parents never come at these things," he gave that knowledge out with a noncommittal and practiced shrug, as if he were trying to avoid making a deal out of it, and it made Yui's mouth purse into a light frown, because it must mean he was used to disregarding his own unsatisfaction, if it came so easily to him.

At his side, Goro's face squinted into a displeased grimace, and he stopped attempting to pull away, to clench his fingers harder around the other boy's hand instead.

Yui considered her son's reaction for a moment, before turning again to Ren-kun with an encouraging smile, "then how about I cheer for you too?"

Her offer seemed to startle and confuse the other child, as he stared up at her with those big dark eyes of his, mouth opened in befuddlement before he gave his hesitant reply, "there...is no need for it? I'm fine...Mom and Dad are busy with work, that's why they couldn't come..."

Well, Yui was busy with work all the time too - in fact, she was busy with _multiple_ jobs most of her week days - so if _she_ could take half a day off to watch her son being an adorable goof even though she didn't have the financial stability that came with a husband to fall back on, at least one of Ren-kun's parents could have the decency of making some time for their child as well.

"You're my son's rival," she used her most solemn and serious tone when she addressed the dark-haired boy again, "it's my duty as his mother to make sure you're both in as high a spirit as possible, so that you can give him a good challenge."

If possible, his eyes grew even larger at her words, confusion and happiness fighting for dominance in his expression, until Goro gave a little scoff and puffed his chest, nose pointed up, zebra plushie tucked under his armpit, and free hand on his hip.

"You're boring if you don't put all of yourself into it."

The smile that curled Ren-kun's lips at hearing that statement was bright and delighted, his cheeks flushed as he turned all his attention back to his rival.

"Ok, then let's see who can sing better," he challenged, mood apparently restored by the prospective of another play-duel between them.

"Don't go crying to Margaret-neechan when I beat you," Goro retorted with a smirk, equally invested, "Mom, you go sit with the other parents, I gotta show Ren who's better!"

" _You_ don't go cry to Nyarla-sensei when _I_ beat _you_."

"Why would I go to him?!"

"I dunno, you always are around him recently."

"He's pregnant! I need to protect him!"

And with that last one they were off to join the rest of the children being herded towards the piano. She watched them go, a muffled laughter escaping her lips, before she made way towards the keyboard-shaped sits.

******

"It's rare to see you at these events."

Nyarlathotep let a few of his eyes drift away from the scene of singing hatchlings, tentacles instinctively curling up to wrap around Philemon's leg and arm when he stepped closer, and tugging at him until they were standing next to each other.

"The Chaos Godling wanted me to meet his progenitor," the Crawling Chaos hummed in return, keeping his tone quiet while he tilted his head towards him, "and The Tiny Trickster came to fetch them while we were still talking."

Philemon's vessel was shining with his renewed power, bright and burning and so intense that it made him wonder how blind humans had to be not to see any of that. It made him want to lick lightnings out of his skin, to wrap him in his limbs and pull him back inside his body, devouring even the smallest spark of power.

Somehow it always took Nyarlathotep a few days to get used again to the feeling of separation and the returned emptiness after his counterpart reassembled his essence to reemerge once again as a separate being, hunger gnawing at his insides for what was lost.

Peering back at him with a light tilt to his mouth, Philemon seemed to understand what was on his mind, because he pressed their shoulders together in a far away echo of when their bodies had been one.

"You could always have not followed," he pointed out while he gave an affectionate squeeze to the tentacle that had slithered its way down his arm and between his fingers.

Human adults could not see the unnatural shape of Nyarlathotep's body, so he let the tip of his limb split open to give a nip at his counterpart's hand. It was a clever thing that Philemon had done, by drenching the premises of that place in his power: it did not blanket them in an illusion as much as it diverted attention and promoted dismissal of the unexplainable.

Sometimes it meant that adults could stare directly at the Crawling Chaos's many, many mouths and not even parse that something was wrong.

Sometimes it meant their minds would rewrite his appearance to something more familiar to them.

He wondered how they would process it, if he were to take a bite out of Philemon's vessel.

"I could have," he conceded, "but then I thought it would be more entertaining to have The Chaos Godling, you, and myself in the same room."

The answer he received was a pinch to the tongue that had been licking his counterpart's palm. It made his head mouth bend into a smug grin.

"I don't understand why he is so taken by this idea that you're pregnant," Philemon was not pouting at one of his children being so overtly hostile towards him, certainly not. Not even if the Crawling Chaos could see it in the way his essence rippled in frustration.

"I would assume hyper-awareness is to be blamed, considering his and his progenitor's situation," Nyarlathotep offered, grin growing wicked, "and a marked craving to become a hero in someone's eyes. Is it not delightful how even the most upright of behaviors can be traced back to selfish desires?"

"You're sounding like a bitter old man, Half Mine," his counterpart warned, but the sulkiness in his tone had been replaced by amusement.

"Well, we both _are_ old," the Crawling Chaos pointed out in return, "and regarding the bitterness there is no solution, seeing as it pertains to my domain."

For a few moments, Philemon didn't reply, but his head turned to peer back at him with a look of consideration, before he hummed, "we'll see what we can do about that."

It sounded a bit like a threat.

The tips of his tentacles curled and his metaphysical body gave a rumble of approval: whatever Philemon's metamorphosis had done to his personality, it clearly had made him more proactive at the very least.

Nyarlathotep wondered if he could find a way to poke him into showing his essence again, to have a little spar in the depth of the collective unconscious. To feel lightnings burn and claw and rip at his limbs while he bit and tore and devoured in return.

What a delightful - delicious - thought.

He needed to bring it up sometimes.

The hatchlings were singing the most off-tune song the Crawling Chaos had the misfortune to ever witness in his long, _long_ life. It wasn't a surprise, as he had heard the rehearsals before - even when he refused to be physically present to them - and it didn't seem to matter to their progenitors, as they were either looking with that particular kind of blind adoration that some species seem to have for their offspring, or they were busy chattering among themselves about the performance.

Nyarlathotep let his limbs lazily swim through the air and observed them more closely with both his physical and metaphysical sight. He was not surprised to find that at least half of their minds did not match their outer look: their smiles were nice and polite - appropriately cheery for the occasion - but their inner selves churned with negative and egotistic thoughts.

_"Ha! How I wish I could be doing something else!"_

_"Why do I have to waste time here, when I've so many other things to do!"_

_"Can't my husband go to these things once in a while instead of me?"_

_"Why is my son so terrible at singing? What will the other parents think!"_

And so on and so on and so on.

It was nothing that Nyarlathotep had not heard before, humanity always being so loud about all the way it liked to swim and roll into its own filth. Always complaining and wanting and being a writing mass of ungrateful assholes that had no redeeming quality other than to be the most vile--

He blinked his eyes and observed The Chaos Godling's progenitor peer at her hatchling and The Tiny Trickster with a smile on her face. Her mind matched her body - a rare occurrence - but there was a small black mass squirming at the base of her neck, like a worm eating its way inside a new host.

It was a bit unusual in how stark the contrast was against her bright, lively mind. Mind parasites of that kind did not usually develop so suddenly, they were often surrounded by more dull waves of despair and sorrow. It was a tiny, but insistent oily thing that had no power over its host right now, but the Crawling Chaos knew on an instinctual level that it would inevitably grow and devour every single positive thoughts in her mind, if given enough time.

His closest tentacle gave a twitch, its mouths rumbling in such sudden revultion, that it made him pause: that was not how his body usually reacted to these kinds of things.

"Nyarlathotep?"

After he let his limbs disappear back into the collective unconscious, he turned his attention back to his counterpart: the latter's essence was buzzing with confusion, having evidently noticed as well how unprecedented his body's reaction was.

"Focus on the hatchlings," was all that the Crawling Chaos replied, not sure himself how to interpret what was passing through his own mind.

******

Yui did not remember Goro mentioning the school having a home economics room, especially not one as large as the one they were currently using. It could easily fit all the children and their parents, and there were plenty of utensils and appliances for everyone to use.

They were apparently going to make cookies as well today, because, as Elizabeth-san had so loudly declared before herding them there, baking was "the most marvelous ritual to strengthen the bonds of a family."

Watching her son pick cookie cutters out of a basket with Ren-kun, Yui couldn't really find it in herself to be bothered by the weirdness of that declaration: between all her multiple jobs, she rarely had any time to cook for Goro properly, and it would be nice to make something fun with him for once.

She didn't have much experience in baking, but cookies were supposed to be easy, and every station was provided with a recipe, and she supposed they couldn't mess it up too much if they carefully followed it.

When Goro and Ren-kun came back to her, they were both excitedly talking about how delicious their pastries were certainly going to be, while clutching to their chests the shapes they'd selected from the basket. Apparently the dark-haired boy had picked several ones with the purpose of personalizing them for his other friends, while Goro was holding in his hands only two single cookie cutters for his own batch.

He claimed he didn't need more, because he was going to only offer them to a few people anyways.

 _Nya-sensei_ , Yui later thought with amusement - once they were done with the baking and the leftovers had been dealt with efficiently and smoothly by two hungry mouths - as she pulled the tray out of the oven and set the cat-shaped cookies aside to cool down.

That certainly made it easy to guess whom one of the recipients for the sugary treats was going to be.

Among the colony of felines, right in the middle of the tray, there was one single butterfly.

She had noticed it before, when sliding the cookies into the oven, and when she had inquired about it, Goro had answered it was for Philemon-sensei, since he always made sure to eat one cookie from the batch of each of the children.

In spite of his current opinion of his caretaker, her son had insisted he couldn't skip it and so there it was, one lonely insect surrounded by a few dozens golden kitties.

It took for Philemon-sensei to actually pass by and sample his designated cookie, pausing to praise Goro for a job well done even as the latter glared back at him, for Yui to understand _why_ her child had insisted on making it: his face might be pouty, and his brows scrunched up into a frown, but his cheeks were flushed with delight at the attention he was being given.

Once her son was satisfied, he scooped up a handful of cookies into a plate and bounced off towards where Nyarla-sensei was standing, keeping to himself.

There was a dark-haired child on his shoulders that had not been there before, Yui noted. He was nibbling on the pastry he held in one hand, while the other clung to the man's hair in a way that could not possibly be comfortable. There was a bright golden paper crown on his head that was clearly too big for him, and the sight of it made her lips quirk into an amused smile.

His caretaker wasn't even acknowledging the way crumbs were probably falling all over him.

She watched as Goro approached him, offering him the cookies with the kind of eagerness she usually saw on his face when she had enough time to play hero with him, letting him rescue her from The Featherman Bad Guy of the Week. Nyarla-sensei peered back at the child at his feet with a cute tilt of his head that made him look a bit like a confused bird, in spite of his imposing figure and the perpetually stern look on his face.

It took him a while to finally reach out for one of the offered cookies, and he bit on it with the kind of careful attention that you would usually reserve for disarming a bomb.

It was sweet how seriously he took the children and how he seemed to be unconsciously indulging their demands.

When she dragged her attention away from the scene, she found that Philemon-sensei had not moved from where Goro had left him standing, and he was instead peering back at her in quiet silence.

His gaze was bright and friendly, and something in it gave her comfort, like meeting an old friend again after years spent apart. He wasn't giving off the impression of the "scoundrel" that Goro seemed to be convinced he was. She peered at him, trying to make out the color of his eyes under his unusual mask, but for some reason the right word to describe them kept escaping her thoughts.

She gave a little bow to him, not quite sure how to approach him, and his smile grew wider in return, before he finally spoke up.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Yui?" he asked, and she didn't know if it felt more jarring to be addressed by her first name or by the lack of honorific. If it were anyone else, she would have thought it was sarcastic, or demeaning - in that same way that some men at the night job used to lord their fortune over her and to make her feel inferior - but the expression on his face showed no malice, only a hint of curiosity and something else that looked similar to goodwill but that she couldn't quite completely describe.

"Yes," she replied truthfully, and her answer seemed to satisfy him, because he let out a pleased hum before turning his attention back to the scene they had been observing before: somehow, while they had been both distracted, Goro had managed to convince Nyarla-sensei to eat most of the cookies he'd made for him, and he was now engaged in an animated discussion with the other boy still sitting on the caretaker's shoulders.

Yui couldn't help the grin that grew on her face at the sight: it was nice to see her son so friendly with other children his age, it made the constant tiredness and the scorn she had to deal with on a daily bases a little easier to bear.

When she turned her gaze once more on the man at her side with the intention of making a comment on how she was delighted Goro seemed to have made friends, she found that the other's full attention was still firmly focused on the scene, an air of quiet contentment softening his already friendly features into another familiar expression that made her pause and bring a hand to her mouth.

 _Ah_ , she thought watching him stifle a chuckle, _so_ that _'s why Goro thinks Nyarla-sensei is pregnant._

Since there was no reason to interrupt the moment, she decided that there was no reason to say anything else after all.

******

There was something thrumming deep inside his body.

At first, it had only been a far away echo, no more than a shadow, or the flutter of wings of an unseen bird.

Now it was pulsing bright and painful, and whispering suggestions Nyarlathotep was not even sure he could put into words that made sense.

He wondered if this was how humans felt in his presence.

It didn't feel _dangerous_ exactly, but it was making his mind feel raw and abused in a way that implied having exerted it for a long time with something it wasn't used to think about. It was like a needle poking, and poking, and poking, when his attention was turned elsewhere, but no matter how much the Crawling Chaos tried, he could not pinpoint from what part of his body the discomfort was exactly radiating from.

He blinked his eyes open and found that The Chaos Godling was not in front of him anymore - he was currently busy with The Tiny Trickster and his Tiny Thieves, one of his limbs informed him - and that The Truth Seeker had at some point climbed down from his shoulders to make rounds and ask for more cookies from whomever was inclined to share.

He could not remember when that had happened, because his attention had been fully focused on trying to find the exact location of the thrumming, since sometime after The Chaos Godling had insisted on him eating his third feline-shaped pastry.

The cookies had tasted like cookies, which was to say they had tasted like their ingredients mixed together and baked for fifteen minutes into an oven. There had been no feeling of sharp burning on his tongue - going down his throat like molten lava, burning and clawing and making his body bleed and crave for more - nor the taste of delicious ozone accompanying them.

"--lathotep?"

Again he blinked his eyes and this time he found that Philemon was standing in front of him, a frown clear on his face even when most of it was hidden by that mask of his. If those pursed lips and slightly squinting eyes were turned towards anyone else, the Crawling Chaos would have suspected the other to be concerned.

Out of the corner of his many eyes, something shimmered with lights and colors, and he wondered, through a fog made of pain and need, if Philemon had decided to take his chances and show his wings into the physical realm after all, or if somehow Nyarlathotep's sight had lost its focus, and he was now watching his surrounding through the lenses of his metaphysical sight.

No human was bleeding from their eyes, and none of them seemed aware of the wondrous spectacle in front of them - bending and unfolding _and shining like burning stars_ \- therefore it must be the latter, he decided.

Instinctively he reached out to wrap his hand around his counterpart's arm, tugging him closer, and as soon as the distance between them was reduced to nothing, the thrumming quieted down into a faraway buzz.

If Nyarlathotep concentrated enough, he could feel something like satisfaction oozing out of it.

It was certainly making its desires easy to guess.

"Are you alright?"

A handful of eyes opened on his head, blinking slow and tired, and occupying the space available to them with no order or reason. The Crawling Chaos was usually better at managing them, but he could not find it in himself to care right now, not with the way Philemon was looking up at him, a hand raised and twitching as if he were resisting the urge to reach out for his face. His essence was shining through his vessel with distress, pieces of it attempting to escape their prison under Nyarlathotep's multidimensional sight, while those - cute - antennas of his, prodded and explored and left sizzling patches of burned flesh behind their passage.

They made him want to tug at them and bit them off in equal measure.

"I'm fine," he finally replied, but he could see it in the way his counterpart's frown only grew deeper, that his words had no effect on him.

He ignored the expectation with which he was being stared at, and turned his attention elsewhere instead, letting his limbs slither and float through the air to take stock of the situation in the room. Most progenitors were busy with their offspring, making sure they would not get too excited under the influence of such an abundance of sugary treats, but small clusters of hatchlings had formed, where supervision was at its lowest.

From one of his tentacles, he could see The Tiny Thieves had gathered to debate the pros and cons of conducting a pastry heist with so many people around. The Tiny Trickster had dragged The Chaos Godling into the debacle, he noticed, and the latter's progenitor was watching over them with amusement as she pretended not to hear their mischievous plans. Her mind was popping and sparkling with sincere delight at the interaction, and once again Nyarlathotep found himself irritated at the sight of the filthy, oily thing he could see wiggling its way into her thoughts, attempting to consume her happiness with doubts and dread for the future to come.

His limbs growled in distaste, a low rumble vibrating through his metaphysical body and making the thrumming flare alive once again with renewed vigor.

_Fix it._

The Chaos Godling would be upset if the parasite were to grow and take over his progenitor's mind.

_**Fix it.** _

The tip of the closest tentacle twitched, growing barb after barb as it hovered near the woman's neck.

_**f͉ͤI͔͈͗̽X̘̮̟́ͦ̿ ̱͉̱̜ͭ͋̽ͧi̯͕̫͕̅̒̿̂T̙̲̱̔͊̏!̮͉ͧ̾** _

All it would take was a little tug - just a quick sweep of his limb - to rip that thing out of existence.

_**F̭͈̝͖̍̊ͫͤI̙͇͙͇͊̄̎ͦX̪̲̟͔͆́͑ͧ ̯͕̩̬̆̐͆̔I͙͙̮̣̔ͯͫ̀T̺̤̪̩͌͂͐̂!̫̟͉̱̌̓̊̈́!̪͎̱̺̐ͨͮ͂!̭̤̘͙͆̾̂̽** _

She didn't even feel the loss - she couldn't, it was such a tiny thing, nothing more than a tiny, churning, and crawling mass of bad thoughts - and Nyarlathotep's mouths all clamored to sink their fangs into it, tearing, and biting, and _making that filth disappear from his sight!_

It took for his counterpart, still standing at his side, to let out a sound of startled surprise for his mind catch up with his body's actions.

_What had he just done?!_

The thrumming was a wild cacophony of delight and blazing glory, cheering and screaming, and attempting to take over the rest of his min--

He stared at his own limbs in mute bewilderment, something like dread twisting his insides, and he wondered, absently, if being separated from his counterpart after spending just a few days as one had been enough to irreversibly mess up his mind.

The thrumming was back louder than before, and pulsing with gleeful excitement that choked his insides with its jubilant cries.

"Nyarlathotep?" Philemon's voice reached him through a fog of warring emotions that he was sure - he was _sure_ \- he would be able to label on anyone else, but that didn't make any sense when applied to _him_ , because he could not, he _would not_ , it was not in him to even _care_ about--

There was a warm hand wrapped around his own, sharp jolts of electricity setting his whole arm on fire, and for a terrible, horrifying moment he felt _grateful_ for the pain his counterpart was so mercifully bestowing upon him, making his mind snap back to reality.

He was being dragged around like a hatchling, he noticed, Philemon's nails digging into the back of his hand as he was being tugged along where no-one would be further witness to his distress.

When he was firmly guided into an empty room, he let it happen without complaints.

"Half Mine?"

Nyarlathotep loathed when Philemon used that tone with him - so soft, and sweet, and unrepentant in the way it made the other's favor for him so obvious. The Crawling Chaos was made of everything that was wrong with humanity, an amalgamation of selfish impulses and merciless desires.

He did not need to be coddled.

"I'm _fine_!" he snarled, limbs twisting and growing fangs and barbs in an automatic response to his defensiveness, as he pulled away.

Philemon didn't let go of his hand.

In fact, his counterpart crowded him until their chests almost touched, head tilted up to scrutinize him carefully. Nyarlathotep refused to show any sign of unease - to show that he knew, he _knew_ , that there was something wrong with him - and so he remained stubbornly still.

Slowly and with no hesitation, Philemon reached up to cup the side of his face, fingers warm with soothing energy as he let a thumb trace comforting circles over smooth skin.

"You know there is no point in keeping it from me, Half Mine," his voice was so terribly gentle when he spoke - filled with understanding and acceptance, and too many things to deal with when Nyarlathotep's mind was still so muddled.

"I know you the best," the other continued, ruthless in his kindness. "As you do me."

The Crawling Chaos let those words sink in, let them push every other thought aside, until his head mouth curled into annoyance: his counterpart was, in fact, correct. It didn't make the situation any easier for him to swallow - pride _was_ part of his domain after all - but he supposed he owed it to his other half, after he himself had been so stubborn about wanting to hear what was going through Philemon's mind not so long ago.

"I don't know what's wrong," he admitted it in a low growl filled with despondency, but he admitted it nonetheless.

His counterpart considered this, gaze pensive behind his butterfly mask and a hint of worry showing in the way his lips were pressed together. It took him a few long minutes of studying Nyarlathotep's reluctant stance, before he let his fingers trail down the latter's neck to rest on his chest.

"Would you let me take a look?" Philemon's hand was already pressing down on his flesh, ready to phase through layers of reality and reach inside him. Absently, the Crawling Chaos wondered what point there even was in asking for permission, when he had been feeling the separation like a festering wound since the moment the other had re-emerged to the physical plane.

"I need to at least _ask_ ," his counterpart pointed out with fond amusement, reading Nyarlathotep's mind in the way his limbs slithered closer to wrap around his legs.

"You have no need to," he retorted back, and the thrumming radiated merry delight at his words.

"That's why I need to," he was gently corrected, and the thrumming trilled something that felt like agreement.

Philemon's hand was still resting on his chest, making no move to sink deeper, and something inside the Crawling Chaos gave a strong twist of longing that made the rest of his body rumble in starvation in return.

"Go on, then," he hummed, letting his flesh split open in invitation, a tongue sneaking out of the newly-formed wound to wrap around Philemon's wrist and tug him closer.

His counterpart looked amused, but he didn't need any more prompting, because his hand plunged into him, sinking into layers of reality to reach for his insides, the brittle vessel that made up those slender fingers, breaking down into dust to let its thundering content overflow out of it.

Philemon was so ridiculously careful about his exploration.

He brushed, and stroked, and left a pleasant aftertaste of affection wherever he had touched, that made Nyarlathotep's mind both growl with loathe and squirm with need for more.

It felt like being wrapped inside a star, if the star had a will and _feelings_ and it were not actually burning him from the outside, as much as it were leaking out into existence in burning rivers from the center of his consciousness.

_**Hum?** _

The Crawling Chaos was not certain himself how long his counterpart had spent sifting through his limbs - making sure that everything was alright, making sure that nothing was wrong, one sucker at a time, one tooth at a time, one drop of blood at a time - before he made that sound.

_**I think there is something here.** _

The thrumming that had receded into an obedient and unassuming background noise so far, burst to life with such sudden intensity that it made even Nyarlathotep's physical mouths let out a pained whine. It was excruciating, and delicious, and just _so much_ that he was sure there were no words in any language in existence that could possibly describe it.

His mind was melting.

His thoughts were melting.

It was pain, and pleasure, and pain again, and exhilaration, and were the cries his or Philemon's? He could not tell! They were one and not, and his mind was no more, fused and ripped apart, and fused again, and how were they even supposed to survive this if they were separated once more?!

It hurt.

It felt so good.

It hurt so much.

Everything bled, and burned, and made no sense at all, and he must have gone insane once and for all, because only the thrumming and the sound of thunders were left for him to feel, while his limbs contorted into a writhing, senseless mass, and his mouths let out the most embarrassing noises of joy, soft needy chirps that made it so obvious how much he favored his other half, and--

He was not going to survive this.

_He was not going to survive this._

_**He was not going to survive th--** _

And then Philemon found enough of himself to yank his essence back into the physical realm and every perception the Crawling Chaos still had left, collapsed on itself.

When he came back from _**ḇͯl͍̍a̟ͭn͚̿k̩͌ ̞͆ǎ̜ṉ͖̎̾d̯̞̓̑ ̳̙̿̐v̝̮ͣ̀o̪̥͊̈́i͓̟ͧ̓d̝͓͈̊̓̾ ͍̬͓̎ͣ͐ạ͎̘̑͋ͯn̩͇͎̈́͊̓d͎̀̋ͪͅͅ ͖̞͖ͨ̓̽t̙̳̘̀̊͛ḧ̦̗̤͙́̉ͭ͂e̗̯͚͖ͫ̑̽̑ ͕͕̭͔̽̊̇̔c̺̥͔̹̊͋̈́̒ȏ̭̭͈̓͑ͫͅm̥̲̙̥ͦ̇́͂p̼͙̟ͭ͗ͯͬͅl̠̱̖̠͌̽ͭ̔e̞͖̩̫̽̓͐̉t̬̜̙͕̐̀ͨ̚e͙͍͔̯̐ͣ̍̎ ͎͈̞̙ͩͣ̽́à̙͈̘̄͊b̠̫̙͋ͩ̈s̗̖̠͆̐͗e̗̜͍̓ͧ̽ń̙̜͔̑̀c̙̲̯͐ͪ̚e̞̱͈̓ͫͬ ̖̄͋ͅo̳̩̐̍f͕͔͋̊ ̞̦͆̐ṯ̖̅͑h̜̞̀ͨo͓ͯṷ̊g̥ͭh͗ͅt̤͗s͖͊**_ , Nyarlathotep found that his physical body had fallen to the ground, Philemon's smaller one on top of him, and both his crown and his counterpart's mask had skittered away somewhere he currently cared nothing about.

They were panting and catching their breath even though they really didn't need air in that way to begin with, but _oh_ , their minds were a jumble, and the Crawling Chaos could still feel the echo of his counterpart's shrieks reverberating through his whole body, reaching even the farthest tips of his limbs.

" _What_ was that?" he finally managed to rasp out, humanoid hands clasping Philemon's arms, only to become even more aware of the way the latter's vessel was still trembling with the residual effects of what they had just gone through.

"I...I..." it took his counterpart several tries to find enough wits to come up with a reply, but when he did so, his mouth widened into a crazed smile that made Nyarlathotep's mouths rumble in return, the other's niddle-like fangs spread out and visible and oh-so-sweetly threatening right in front of his face.

"I think I left a part of me inside you by accident."

 _No wonder_ , the Crawling Chaos thought, his mind replaying unprompted the way his limbs had instinctively reached out to fix the mind of The Chaos Godling's progenitor.

If he focused and let his consciousness sink enough, he could feel its excited fluttering somewhere in the deepest part of his being, where it had decided to sink its burning claws and take root.

Above him Philemon was peering back at him with delight, hands firmly squeezing his shoulders and dangerous grin still such an alluring sight. He could see his counterpart's thin, slithering tongue contorting in a writhing mass inside his mouth, its hard tip peeking through every so often to glint under the light in a reminder of the venom it could inject him with, if the other so desired.

Nyarlathotep couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Philemon showing so much of his unfathomable self in the physical world.

"I think you took a part of me to make up for it as well," he managed to breathe out. There were so many mouths missing from his limbs, replaced by dozens and dozens of eyes, all staring in rapt fascination at the way Philemon shifted his weight to cup Nyarlathotep's face with a clawed hand.

"I think so too, yes," the other concurred, sounding anything but displeased at that newfound knowledge. The sharp tip of one thumb traced down the Crawling Chaos's neck, as if considering splitting it open.

"Do you want it back?" his counterpart asked, voice even and relaxed, like they were chit-chatting about the weather. For a delicious moment his tongue flicked past its cage of fangs and looked ready to plunge into Nyarlathotep's skull.

"No!" he managed to choke out when it vanished again from view, and he wasn't entirely sure which of his mouths said it, as his mind was swimming again in time with the thrumming piece that Philemon had left behind.

His answer seemed to please his counterpart, because the latter leaned down to clack their fangs together in affection, before puling away once more to ask, "do you want me to take mine back?"

**"̪̩̙̖̯̹̫̭̓̄̃̾ͫ̏̒͐N͓͎̙̰͕̺̥̰̒̑̒̐ͨ̄͊͐O̘͙̬̤̣͕͔̻ͬ͒ͦ̌͌͒͐̿!͕̻̟̪̫͈̮̤̈́̾̆̑ͩ͋̓͋!͎͚̱̹͔̮̙̐͋̾̆̿͗ͩ͒ͅ!̖̝̩̼̤̱̥̙̐͋̀ͣ̌̔ͦ̾"̠̣̞̼̜̼̜͖ͬ̉͑̔̃̿ͯ̉**

Nyarlathotep's body seized at the mere idea of letting go of what was his _his **h̖̑i̟̬ͣ̂s̙̙̫̿͂͊**_ and the multitude of his eyes split open into an equal amount of fanged mouths, teeth gleaming and jutting out and ready to _ḅ̓ï͈T̮ͦè͍ ͔̽ **a̰͋N̝̣͋ͤD̯͎̾ͩ ̻̭͂̊r̻̱ͨ͂I̪̦̾̀p̺̈̑ͅ ̼̤̩́̄̏Ā̫̤͓̓̌N͈̼̳ͤ͑̃d̯̥̬ͤͦ̋ ͈̻͕͑ͬ́g̣̫̬ͣͨ̓È͓̗͙ͯ̐̇ͅT̙͍̦͚̋͐̋͗ ̪̙̮̝̇ͭ͆̓Ŕ̬̦͇̘̏ͦ̚i̝̤̰̞ͪ̉͗͗D̮̝̦͔͌͊ͬͤ**_ of whatever was trying to _s̠̾t̯̑E͔ͯa͕͌l̗̆ ̭͒W̻̍H̖ͯa͉̽t̟̍ ̹̱̽ͧ **w͉̱͑ͭA̬̫͊̋Š̖̪̐ ̣͉͐̓Ȟ̩͚̂i͇̩ͦͧŜ͕̣ͯ ͙̦͌̋a̩̜͐̃N̯͕̮̉̊ͮD̝͈̩̄̔͗ ͕̞̯͛ͧ̌ȏ̭̗̥̈́ͮN̞̖̬̔̃͐L̲̠̝̉̍ͨy̙̳ͨͫͯͅ ͇̗̼̑͊̄H͍̳̻ͭ̄̀i̭̳͛ͪ̒ͅs͓̻͖͚̆ͥͣ̐ ̫͓̗̭̊̈́̓̎ṱ͔͇̯̅͐͒͑Ŏ͉̭̘̙ͨ͗͊ ̮̻̣̞ͥ̽̾̊k̫͈̣̤̏̋̅͐E̩̱̟̞͆̈̓̈́Ē̼͍̯̝̓͒̚P̞̪̹̯̀͊͒͐.̣̼̩̣͆ͮͦ̾**_

Philemon didn't even have the decency to look alarmed at the display of emotions. Instead, he leaned down once again, the air between them vibrating with the sound of a loud, rattling purr.

"Very good," he hummed, clawed hands tightening their grip on Nyarlathotep's flesh until they drew blood, "I don't wish to give yours back either."

Was there even any point in them being two separate beings, if they enjoyed so much giving parts of themselves to one another?

"I still wish to be myself," Philemon pointed out, reading the thought when it bounced off in the depth of the collective unconscious, and the Crawling Chaos couldn't exactly disagree, because the idea of them melting into a single consciousness made the feeling of absence and emptiness only flare up more fiercely to twist his insides.

"I still wish to be myself as well," he concurred, earning a pleased sound in return.

If he closed all his eyes and let his senses fall inwards, he could hear another quieter rattle-purr drumming in the depths of his near-endless body, and in an embarrassing show of emotions that he would deny to the end of the multiverse, his limbs twisted around it and offered a series of chirps in return.

"You made a mess of the whole room," Nyarlathotep absently commented when he felt his counterpart's amusement through their shared parts. He eyed the way dark streaks of soot ran up the walls where Philemon's unrestrained essence had scorched them into black coal: good thing the building was imbued with the same power, or it would not have been left standing.

"The claw marks are not mine," his counterpart hummed back, resting his head against Nyarlathotep's collarbone while he settled on top of his chest. Philemon's ponytail was a bit of a mess, and the Crawling Chaos hooked a claw into the band to slide it off completely, letting the other's hair fall loosely around them.

"My barbs don't actually make humans bleed from their eyes just by looking at them," he chuckled back, watching the laziness with which Philemon's vessel shuffled a bit to get himself more comfortable, before stilling once again. It made the shiny piece tucked away in his body flutter and radiate contentment.

It was so much easier to read his counterpart's emotions, when he could directly feel them as a part of his own mind. The other must be thinking the same thing, because one of his hands shifted to rest where Nyarlathotep's heart would have been, were his anatomy more human than it was.

"Good thing that you locked the room then," Philemon hummed back.

The Crawling Chaos would allow no-one other than himself to witness his counterpart's true essence - their weak physical bodies were proof enough that they didn't deserve to even be allowed a glimpse of it - and his limbs must have acted to fulfill his wish, even without a conscious thought on his part.

"Do you want to move?" he absently asked, even as his arms were already raising to wrap around the smaller vessel resting on top of his own.

"Not especially," was the answer he received, and he took it as permission to sink his long fingers into his counterpart's hair, pressing their bodies so close, that the only reason they still were two separate beings was because they both wished it so.

With a satisfied sound rumbling deep in his core, he let his limbs slither closer to wrap around the parts of Philemon's vessel that were still left untouched.

******

"I hate this," Nyarlathotep stated, his limbs twisting in contempt at the alien feeling of _wanting to cut humans some slack_ \- of all ridiculous things! - that poked at his mind when he landed his gaze on the cluster of humans having an animated discussion not far from them.

They had escorted the hatchlings to a nearby park - because apparently the newest theory about offspring-rearing circulating among his counterpart's underlings was that they needed regular interactions with new people to grow properly - and while the smaller ones were busy playing with the regulars there, the latter's progenitors were busy having some kind of dispute on something that was politics or moral quandaries or one of those topics that always seemed to drag out into the light the worst parts of humanity.

"It feels gross."

"My offer to take it back is still open," was Philemon's amused reply, as he stepped closer to give a gentle squeeze to his arm.

"I would rather cut your head off and eat it whole," Nyarlathotep flatly retorted, and earned a stifled chuckle in return.

"That would only worsen your problem."

Well, that was true enough, but the Crawling Chaos didn't need to _like it_ specifically. Out of petty annoyance, he let one of his limbs poke at his counterpart's side, which only helped in making the look on the latter's face more amused.

"You know, I should try that too sometimes..." it was said by Philemon in a considering hum, unassuming and almost forgettable if not for the way the piece of him inside Nyarlathotep suddenly flared up with interest.

"What are you referring to?" instinctively, his limbs crowded closer to take a better look at his counterpart's face, only to find that he was being watched with something that looked like hunger, but that couldn't possibly be that because Philemon had never expressed that type of desire before - eventhougheventhough he now had a part of the Crawling Chaos as part of himself, so maybe _maybe **maybehewould--**_

" _I_ should try eating _you_."

_Oh._

That certainly was a thought.

Nyarlathotep closed all his eyes, took a both deep and unneeded breath, and he wisely decided to file that new knowledge away to be addressed at another, more appropriate time.

**Author's Note:**

> The titles Nyarlathotep uses to refer to people:
> 
>   * Naoya: The Truth Seeker
>   * Ren: The Tiny Trickster
>   * Goro: The Chaos Godling
>   * Phantom Thieves (as a whole): The Tiny Thieves
> 



End file.
